The Glass Between Us
The smell of old paper is a heavy, sweet dust that settles deep in the lungs, like the scent of a room that hasn’t been opened in years. I remember the feeling of pressing my forehead against a cold pane of glass, the sudden shock of the chill against my skin, and the way the world outside seemed to vibrate with a life I couldn’t quite touch. It is a strange, hollow ache—to be separated by a thin, transparent barrier that lets in the light but keeps the air at bay. We spend so much of our lives watching the world from behind a divide, our breath fogging the surface, creating a temporary veil between our inner quiet and the rushing noise of the street. Does the glass protect us from the cold, or does it simply keep us from feeling the true temperature of the world? When we finally pull away, does the imprint of our face remain on the surface, a ghost of where we once stood?
Keith Goldstein has captured this exact tension in his image titled The Man in the Window. It invites us to consider the quiet, invisible boundaries we navigate every day in the city. Do you ever feel like you are watching your own life from the other side of the glass?
